Expansion Bloodless Conquest: Grand Duchess Nepheli's Ascension over Giro and Guipui

[Nepheli N. Tzunidahr]

The first clash came with the sound of steel meeting steel, the din of battle erupting in the twilight. House Ravenspire’s vanguard stood in their way, a wall of dark-clad warriors blocking the narrow forest path to Shadowmere. Their war drums beat a relentless rhythm, echoing through the trees like a heartbeat of doom.

Nepheli was the first to strike. Her blade found a gap in an enemy’s armor, sliding between ribs. She twisted the sword free just in time to parry another attack, moving with ruthless efficiency. Around her, Tzunidahr and Giro warriors crashed into the Ravenspire line, the golden phoenix of Tzunidahr and the crimson stag of Giro gleaming in the firelight.

Gaius fought at her side, his shield absorbing the brunt of an axe swing before he drove his sword into the attacker’s throat. Chief Rhodan was a force of nature, cleaving through Ravenspire ranks with an old warrior’s skill.

But for every enemy they felled, more pressed forward.

“We need to break their line!” Nepheli shouted over the roar of combat. “Gaius, take your men left! Rhodan, with me!”

Gaius nodded, rallying his troops to push into the enemy’s flank. Nepheli and Rhodan charged forward, cutting their way toward the enemy captain, a towering warrior clad in blackened plate. If they could kill him, it might break the Ravenspire formation.

The captain met Nepheli’s attack with brutal strength, forcing her back with a two-handed swing. She barely dodged in time, the blade carving a deep gash into the earth where she had stood.

He swung again, but this time she was ready. Ducking low, she drove her sword up into his armpit, where his armor was weakest. He let out a strangled gasp, but before he could retaliate, Rhodan brought his axe down in a decisive blow, cleaving the captain’s skull.

For a moment, the battlefield stilled.

Then, as Nepheli had hoped, Ravenspire’s line wavered. Their warriors hesitated, some stepping back in uncertainty.

“Now! Push forward!” Nepheli roared.

With renewed vigor, Tzunidahr and Giro surged ahead, cutting through the scattered enemy ranks. The battle shifted in their favor as Ravenspire’s vanguard lost cohesion.

But just as victory seemed within reach, a new sound reached Nepheli’s ears—the thunder of hooves.

She turned just in time to see them emerge from the trees. House Aurelion’s riders.

The betrayers had arrived.

Nepheli’s stomach twisted with fury as Aurelion’s cavalry swept in from the side, their golden banners gleaming in the fading light. They had waited for the moment of weakness, striking when Tzunidahr and Giro were locked in battle.

“They mean to finish us off,” Gaius growled, coming to stand beside her.

Rhodan spat onto the ground. “Cowards.”

Nepheli clenched her jaw, her mind racing. If Aurelion’s cavalry hit them now, they’d be caught between two forces. They had to move—fast.

“Fall back toward the cliffs!” she shouted. “Use the terrain to our advantage!”

The soldiers obeyed, disengaging from the remaining Ravenspire warriors and retreating toward the rocky outcroppings at the edge of the forest.

Aurelion’s riders thundered after them.

Nepheli turned to Gaius. “Archers in position?”

He nodded. “Ready.”

She raised her sword high, waiting, waiting—then dropped it. “Loose!”

A volley of arrows darkened the sky. The first wave of Aurelion riders fell, horses screaming as they tumbled. More arrows followed, breaking the charge’s momentum.

But still, some pushed through.

Nepheli met them head-on, parrying a spear thrust and dragging the rider from his saddle. She drove her blade into his chest before turning to face the next. Around her, Tzunidahr and Giro warriors fought like cornered beasts, using the narrow cliffs to funnel the enemy into choke points.

But Aurelion had numbers on their side.

Seraphine and her riders were still drawing the rest of Aurelion’s forces away, but they would not return in time to help.

And Ravenspire was regrouping.

They were running out of options.

Rhodan grabbed Nepheli’s arm. “We need to go, now.”

She shook him off. “We stand and fight—”

“We’ll die if we do,” he interrupted. “Look around you.”

She did.

Bodies littered the ground. Her warriors were exhausted, their movements slowing. Gaius was bleeding from a wound to his side. The battle was slipping from their grasp.

And in the distance, Ravenspire’s second wave was approaching.

Nepheli cursed.

“Shadowmere is close,” Gaius said through gritted teeth. “If we reach it, we live. If we stay, we don’t.”

She hated it. Hated that Aurelion had done this to them. Hated that retreat was their only choice.

But she would not let her people die here.

“To Shadowmere!” she called. “Move!”

The Tzunidahr and Giro warriors pulled back, their formation tight as they navigated the rocky terrain. Aurelion’s cavalry hesitated—the cliffs made pursuit difficult.

It gave them just enough time.

They ran.

The fortress of Shadowmere loomed in the distance, its blackened towers rising above the mist. It was an old ruin, but it would serve.

They reached the gates just as Ravenspire’s second wave appeared on the horizon.

Nepheli turned to Gaius. “Close the gates. We hold here.”

As the heavy doors slammed shut behind them, she let out a slow breath.

The battle was not over.

But they would not fall this day.

 

[Nepheli N. Tzunidahr]

The gates of Shadowmere groaned as they slammed shut, sealing the battered remnants of Tzunidahr and Giro within the ancient fortress. Nepheli pressed a hand against the cold stone wall, catching her breath.

Outside, torches flickered in the growing darkness. Aurelion and Ravenspire had joined forces at last, their banners mingling in the torchlight. The enemy was gathering.

Gaius leaned against the battlements, his face pale from blood loss. “They’ll attack before dawn.”

Rhodan, ever the pragmatist, exhaled sharply. “Let them come. We’ll make them regret it.”

Nepheli turned her gaze toward the crumbling towers of Shadowmere. The fortress was old, its walls weathered by time, but it was defensible. Narrow corridors, collapsed stairways, and broken bridges would force the enemy into bottlenecks. If they played it right, they could make a stand.

Seraphine and her riders were still out there, but they wouldn’t return in time to break the siege. No reinforcements were coming. They were on their own.

She turned to her warriors. “We make them bleed for every step they take.”

—

The first attack came just before dawn. Aurelion’s archers loosed fire-tipped arrows, lighting up the sky. The dry timbers of the outer gate caught flame instantly.

“They’re trying to burn us out,” Rhodan growled.

Nepheli didn’t flinch. “Let them waste their arrows.”

The fire spread, but the gate held—for now. The real threat came when Ravenspire’s foot soldiers advanced with heavy shields, bracing against the arrow fire from Shadowmere’s defenders.

“They mean to batter the gate,” Gaius said.

Nepheli turned to him. “Take your best men. Meet them at the base of the wall. We can’t let them get close enough to breach.”

Gaius nodded, gathering a handful of warriors and disappearing down the stone corridors.

The first clash came moments later. Tzunidahr and Giro defenders hurled stones and oil from the walls, setting Ravenspire’s men ablaze. Screams filled the air, but more kept coming.

Then, the battering ram appeared. A hulking siege weapon, carried by armored soldiers, moving slowly but relentlessly toward the gate.

Nepheli’s grip tightened on her sword.

If that ram reached the gate, it was over.

—

They needed to stop it. Now.

Nepheli grabbed a bow from a fallen archer and nocked an arrow. She took a deep breath, steadying her aim. The ram’s lead carrier was heavily armored, but his visor was up—an oversight in the heat of battle.

She loosed the arrow.

It struck true, piercing his eye. The man crumpled, the ram faltering as his comrades stumbled. Another volley from Tzunidahr’s archers rained down, forcing the enemy to pull back.

But it wasn’t enough.

More men rushed forward, lifting the ram once more.

Gaius and his warriors emerged from the shadows of the gate, charging into the enemy’s ranks with brutal efficiency. For a moment, it looked as if they might hold.

Then, a horn sounded.

From the treeline, a fresh wave of Aurelion reinforcements appeared, cavalry and foot soldiers both.

Nepheli’s stomach turned. They were out of time.

“Rhodan!” she called.

The chief of Giro appeared beside her. “Say the word.”

“Collapse the bridge.”

He grinned, as if he’d been waiting for this order. “With pleasure.”

Shadowmere’s entrance was connected to the lower courtyard by a crumbling stone bridge. It was their only way in or out—but if the enemy took the courtyard, they were dead anyway.

Nepheli watched as Giro warriors slammed their axes into the weakened stone. Dust and rock crumbled. Aurelion’s men had just begun crossing when the structure gave way.

The bridge collapsed, taking dozens of enemy soldiers with it.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then, cheers erupted from the defenders.

But Nepheli did not celebrate.

They had bought themselves time—but they were still trapped.

 

[Nepheli N. Tzunidahr]

Smoke drifted over the ruined bridge as Shadowmere’s defenders caught their breath. The enemy had been forced back—at least for now. But their reprieve was fleeting.

Nepheli stood on the battlements, surveying the battlefield. The collapsed bridge had stalled Aurelion’s advance, but it hadn’t broken them. Beyond the wreckage, their campfires still burned, stretching across the valley like a second sky.

Gaius limped toward her, his face bloodied but determined. “They’ll find another way in. Siege towers, ladders—something.”

Nepheli nodded. “We’re running out of time.”

Rhodan leaned against a crumbling wall, arms crossed. “Then we take the fight to them.”

Gaius scoffed. “With what army? We barely have enough men to hold the walls.”

“We don’t need an army,” Rhodan replied. “We just need to be smarter.”

Nepheli turned to him. “You have something in mind?”

A slow grin spread across his face. “Aurelion thinks we’re cornered. Let’s show them how dangerous a cornered beast can be.”

—

Under the cover of darkness, a small group of Tzunidahr and Giro warriors slipped out through a hidden postern gate, vanishing into the trees. Nepheli led them herself, her black and gold cloak blending with the shadows.

The plan was simple. Strike the enemy camp, set their supplies ablaze, and disappear before they could react. Aurelion and Ravenspire were well-supplied, but if they lost their food, their siege would become a test of endurance—one they weren’t prepared for.

As they moved through the underbrush, Nepheli could hear the distant sounds of the enemy. Fires crackled. Armor clinked. Laughter echoed through the night—soldiers confident in their impending victory.

They had no idea what was coming.

Nepheli signaled to her warriors. They spread out, moving like wraiths through the tall grass.

The first tent went up in flames before anyone noticed. Then the second. Then the third.

By the time the alarm was raised, the heart of Aurelion’s supply camp was ablaze.

Nepheli drove her blade into the throat of a sentry before he could sound a warning. To her left, Rhodan tore through a cluster of soldiers with savage efficiency. Gaius, despite his wounds, fought with precise, brutal strikes, cutting down anyone who got too close.

The enemy scrambled, shouting orders, but the confusion played into their hands.

Then, a horn sounded—a sharp, piercing note.

“They’re regrouping,” Gaius warned.

Nepheli cursed. They had done what they came for, but if they lingered, they’d be overrun.

“Fall back!” she called.

The warriors of Tzunidahr and Giro melted into the night as flames consumed the enemy camp.

Behind them, chaos reigned.

—

By the time they returned to Shadowmere, the enemy was in disarray. Without their supplies, they couldn’t sustain a prolonged siege.

But victory had come at a cost.

Rhodan limped through the gates, his shoulder bleeding from a deep gash. Two of their warriors had not returned. And Nepheli…

She barely made it inside before her legs gave out.

Gaius caught her before she hit the ground. “You’re hurt.”

Nepheli gritted her teeth. A crossbow bolt had found its mark just beneath her ribs. She hadn’t even noticed in the chaos.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” she said, though her vision swam.

Gaius wasn’t convinced. “You need a healer.”

Nepheli waved him off. “Later.” She turned to the assembled warriors. “This isn’t over. Aurelion is wounded, but he won’t retreat. We need to be ready.”

Rhodan wiped blood from his brow. “Let them come. We’ll finish what we started.”

Nepheli forced herself to her feet. She could feel the wound burning, but she ignored it.

They weren’t dead yet. And as long as she drew breath, she would fight.

 

[Nepheli N. Tzunidahr]

The fires still burned beyond the walls of Shadowmere, their glow painting the night in flickering shades of orange and red. Aurelion’s army had been dealt a crippling blow, but they had not broken. Instead, the siege tightened.

Nepheli stood in the great hall, a fresh bandage wrapped around her ribs. The wound still ached, but she had no time for weakness. Across from her, Gaius and Rhodan studied a crude map of the valley, tracing possible escape routes—none of them promising.

“We bought ourselves time,” Gaius said. “But not much. Their reinforcements will arrive within days.”

Rhodan scoffed. “Then we finish this before they get here.”

Nepheli considered the options. The attack on the supply camp had weakened Aurelion’s position, but not shattered it. He was too proud to retreat, too stubborn to acknowledge that his gamble had failed.

Which meant he would try something desperate.

She turned to Gaius. “What’s their next move?”

He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his stubbled jaw. “If I were Aurelion? I’d press an assault at dawn. No more waiting, no more starving us out. He’ll throw everything he has left at these walls.”

Rhodan cracked his knuckles. “Then we hold. And when they break against the walls, we end this.”

Nepheli’s gold-flecked eyes flickered toward the window, where the first hints of dawn touched the sky. “One way or another,” she murmured, “It ends today.”

—

The horns of House Aurelion shattered the early morning silence. Within moments, the valley roared to life—soldiers moving into formation, siege ladders being raised, war cries echoing as the enemy charged.

Nepheli stood atop the battlements, her black and gold cloak whipping in the wind. She raised her sword high. “Hold the line!”

Arrows rained from the walls, cutting through the first wave of attackers. Siege ladders slammed against the stone, and Ravenspire mercenaries began their ascent. The battle erupted in full.

Rhodan met them with savage force, hurling an enemy from the ladder before driving his axe into another’s skull. Gaius moved with deadly precision, cutting down every foe who reached the ramparts.

Nepheli fought like a storm. Wounded as she was, she moved through the chaos with ruthless efficiency, her blade cutting through armor, flesh, and bone. A Ravenspire captain charged at her, his greatsword raised—she sidestepped, driving her sword into his side before kicking him off the wall.

Then came the battering ram.

The great gates of Shadowmere trembled under the repeated impact, splintering under the assault. Nepheli cursed under her breath. If the gates fell, it was over.

“We have to stop that ram!” Gaius called.

Nepheli’s eyes darted across the battlefield. Then she saw it—barrels of oil stacked near the edge of the ramparts.

“Fire,” she breathed. Then, louder: “Archers! The oil!”

Flaming arrows streaked through the air. The first missed. The second ignited the barrels.

An explosion rocked the battlefield, engulfing the battering ram in flames. The shockwave knocked men from their feet. Aurelion’s forces hesitated, their charge faltering.

And that was when Nepheli struck.

“Now! Drive them back!”

A counterattack surged from the gates, the warriors of Tzunidahr and Giro crashing into the disoriented enemy. Swords met shields. Blood splashed across the muddy ground.

Nepheli cut through the chaos, searching for one man.

Aurelion.

She found him near the rear lines, his once-proud armor stained with smoke and blood. He saw her coming, his blue eyes narrowing.

“So,” he said, gripping his sword, “this is how it ends.”

Nepheli didn’t waste words. She lunged, their blades clashing in a brutal dance of steel.

Aurelion was a skilled swordsman, but he was tired. Wounded. And Nepheli had something he didn’t—unyielding will.

She knocked his sword aside and drove her dagger into his gut. His breath hitched.

“For House Tzunidahr,” she whispered.

She twisted the blade.

Aurelion crumpled.

The moment he fell, his army broke.

The siege of Shadowmere was over.

—

The battlefield was littered with the dead. Smoke curled into the dawn sky.

Nepheli stood amidst the wreckage, exhausted but victorious. House Aurelion had been shattered, Ravenspire scattered.

Gaius approached, his armor dented but his expression steady. “It’s over.”

Rhodan rolled his shoulders. “About time.”

Nepheli exhaled. “For now.”

She turned her gaze south, toward the lands beyond the valley.

There were still enemies to face.

Still wars to win.

But today, they had proved that House Tzunidahr would never fall.

 

[Nepheli N. Tzunidahr]

The battlefield was quiet now, save for the moans of the dying and the crackle of lingering fires. The banners of House Tzunidahr and House Giro stood tall over the ruined field, black and gold rippling alongside deep crimson. Victory had been hard-won, but it was theirs.

Nepheli stood among the wreckage, her sword still in hand, blood drying on her gauntlet. Aurelion’s forces had scattered, their banners trampled, their stronghold of Shadowmere lost. House Aurelion itself was finished, its legacy buried beneath the bodies of its fallen warriors.

Gaius approached, his face grim. “We’re rounding up the last of the prisoners. Most of them are Ravenspire mercenaries. They might be willing to switch sides if the price is right.”

Nepheli considered it. Ravenspire had been Aurelion’s attack dog, but now they had no master. Some would flee, some would seek revenge, but others—pragmatists, killers for coin—would kneel if it meant survival.

“Take the ones worth keeping,” she said. “The rest?” She glanced toward the valley where Aurelion’s forces had fled. “Let them run. They’ll spread word of what happened here.”

Rhodan approached next, wiping blood from his axe. “And what of the nobles we captured? There are still some Aurelion loyalists in the keep. The old man’s brother, a few knights, a cousin or two.”

Nepheli’s golden eyes darkened. House Aurelion had broken its oath, betrayed them, and nearly cost them everything. There could be no mercy.

“Execute the knights,” she said. “Let the nobles send their last letters. Then put them to the sword.”

Rhodan grinned. “A clean slate, then.”

She nodded. House Aurelion had gambled and lost. There would be no remnants to reclaim its name.

—

The great hall of Shadowmere was still filled with the scent of smoke and blood when Nepheli and her war council convened. The castle was now firmly in their control, its defenses strengthened, its halls stripped of Aurelion’s legacy. Black and gold banners hung where Aurelion’s colors once stood.

Seraphine leaned against the war table, watching Nepheli with an amused smirk. “You know, if we keep taking strongholds at this rate, we’ll run out of enemies soon.”

Nepheli smirked back. “Unlikely.”

Gaius placed a new map on the table, the borders freshly marked. “With Aurelion gone, the balance shifts. The lords who feared them will turn their eyes toward us. Some will seek alliances. Others will prepare for war.”

Nepheli studied the map, tracing a path toward the next inevitable conflict. “Then we move first.”

Shadowmere was a prize, but it was only the beginning. House Tzunidahr’s rise had begun in blood, and it would not stop now.

She turned to her commanders. “We rebuild, we fortify, and then we take what’s next.”

There were still battles to fight, still lands to claim.

House Tzunidahr would not stop until the world was theirs.

 

[Nepheli N. Tzunidahr]

The fires of Shadowmere still smoldered when the first envoys arrived. Messengers bearing the sigils of lesser houses—some allies of Aurelion now desperate to save themselves, others opportunists eager to swear fealty before the tide turned against them. Nepheli received them in the great hall, seated upon the throne that once belonged to the traitor lord.

Seraphine stood at her side, arms crossed, watching the envoys with barely concealed amusement. “They’re like vultures picking at a carcass,” she murmured.

Nepheli’s golden gaze flicked over the gathered lords and emissaries. “Let them pick,” she said. “They’ll soon learn that we are not carrion.”

The first to step forward was Lord Gael of House Varyndale, a cautious man who had kept his banners lowered during the conflict, neither aiding nor opposing Aurelion. He bowed deeply.

“Grand Duchess,” he said, voice measured. “I come to offer my allegiance. House Varyndale recognizes the strength of House Tzunidahr and wishes to stand with you in the days ahead.”

Nepheli tilted her head, studying him. “You remained neutral during the war,” she noted. “And now, with Aurelion’s corpse still warm, you wish to stand at my side?”

Gael hesitated. “I wished only to protect my people. I did not know which side would emerge victorious.”

“And now you do,” she said coldly.

He swallowed. “Yes.”

Nepheli let the silence stretch before finally speaking. “You may swear your fealty, Lord Gael. But understand this—loyalty that shifts with the winds is no loyalty at all. If you ever hesitate again, I will not be so forgiving.”

Gael bowed again, lower this time. “You will not find me wanting, Grand Duchess.”

One by one, the others came forward—some pledging themselves fully, others offering only guarded words. Nepheli marked each of them, taking note of who hesitated, who was eager, and who might one day turn against her.

When the last envoy left, Seraphine sighed dramatically. “Politics. I prefer war. At least on the battlefield, you know where you stand.”

Nepheli allowed a small smirk. “War is simple. Ruling is not.”

“Then it’s a good thing you excel at both,” Seraphine said, grinning.

—

That night, Nepheli stood atop the battlements, looking over the valley below. Shadowmere was hers, but there were still threats beyond its walls. House Giro stood as her greatest ally, but how long before the other powers in the region sought to challenge them?

Gaius joined her, his expression thoughtful. “Word will spread quickly. The realm will know that House Tzunidahr stands stronger than ever.”

“They will,” Nepheli agreed. “And they will wonder what we intend to do next.”

Gaius exhaled. “And what do we intend to do next?”

Nepheli’s eyes gleamed gold in the moonlight.

“We consolidate. We strike before our enemies can regroup. And we make it known that House Tzunidahr does not just rule—”

She turned, her cloak billowing behind her.

“—we conquer.”

 

[Nepheli N. Tzunidahr]

The war was over. The banners of House Tzunidahr and House Giro flew over Shadowmere’s battlements, their sigils—golden phoenix and silver gryphon—standing in defiant contrast to the blackened ruins of Aurelion’s rule. Yet even in victory, Nepheli knew the work had only just begun.

The city had to be rebuilt, order restored, and the traitor lords who had backed Aurelion punished. But most importantly, she had to ensure that no other power dared rise to challenge what she and her allies had forged.

—

The great hall of Shadowmere had been stripped of Aurelion’s banners, its walls still marked by the fires of war. It was here that Nepheli gathered the remaining lords who had once sworn fealty to Aurelion. Some had taken up arms against her, others had hesitated too long to choose a side. Now, they knelt before her, awaiting judgment.

Seraphine stood beside Nepheli, her hand resting on the pommel of her sword. Valerian was near the steps of the dais, ever watchful, while Gaius observed from the side, his expression unreadable.

The first lord to be brought forth was Edric Vael, a lesser noble who had provided Aurelion with soldiers but surrendered when Shadowmere fell. He knelt, his head bowed.

“Grand Duchess,” he said, voice shaking. “I had no choice. Aurelion would have burned my lands if I had refused him.”

Nepheli tilted her head, studying him. “And yet, when the tide turned, you had no trouble abandoning him.”

He swallowed hard. “I swear my loyalty to you now.”

A murmur ran through the gathered lords. Nepheli let the silence stretch before she finally spoke. “House Tzunidahr rewards loyalty,” she said, her voice measured. “But it does not forget betrayal.”

She raised a hand, and two of her soldiers stepped forward. Edric’s eyes widened in panic.

“Please, I—”

Nepheli gave a slight nod. In a swift motion, one of the soldiers drove a dagger into his throat. Blood spilled onto the stone floor as the other lords stiffened.

Nepheli stood. “I will not tolerate treachery. Those who aided Aurelion have a choice—kneel now, swear your fealty, and prove your worth to me, or share Edric’s fate.”

One by one, the lords dropped to their knees. Nepheli watched them carefully, noting who hesitated and who did not. Some of them she would allow to prove themselves; others would be dealt with in time.

Seraphine leaned closer and whispered, “A ruthless display. I approve.”

Nepheli’s golden eyes gleamed. “Let them fear me, Seraphine. Fear is the foundation of loyalty.”

—

Days turned to weeks as Nepheli and her forces worked to consolidate their hold. House Giro, under Lady Elara, maintained a strong presence in the eastern territories, ensuring that no remnants of Aurelion’s loyalists could regroup. In the west, Tzunidahr’s banners were raised over the former holdings of those who had opposed them.

Nepheli established a new order—one where the strong ruled and the weak served. She implemented new laws, reinforcing the structure of governance in Burganna and beyond.

At night, she would stand at the highest tower of Shadowmere, looking out across the lands she had claimed. Gaius often joined her, silent at first before speaking.

“You’ve won,” he said one evening. “But victories fade. You know that better than anyone.”

Nepheli exhaled, her breath visible in the cold air. “That is why we do not stop.”

Gaius studied her. “And what comes next?”

She turned to him, her eyes burning like molten gold. “We expand.”

He smirked slightly. “I suspected as much.”

Nepheli’s grip tightened on the stone railing. House Tzunidahr and House Giro had proven their strength, but there were still rivals in the distance, threats lurking in the shadows.

They would not wait for war to come to them.

They would bring the war to their enemies.

And when the next storm rose, Nepheli intended to be the one standing at its center.

 

[Nepheli N. Tzunidahr]

The banners of House Tzunidahr and House Giro fluttered against the cold morning wind, their colors stark against the pale gray sky. Beyond Shadowmere’s walls, an army gathered—a force larger than any that had marched under Nepheli’s command before. Knights, sellswords, archers, and warbands drawn from the conquered lands stood in formation, awaiting the order to move.

Nepheli sat atop her black warhorse, clad in her battle armor, the golden phoenix of her house emblazoned across her chest. Beside her, Seraphine adjusted the straps of her gauntlets, while Valerian sat astride his own steed, his expression unreadable. Gaius stood at the head of the assembled officers, his sword resting casually across his saddle.

“We strike west,” Nepheli said, her voice carrying over the wind. “The remnants of Aurelion’s allies still linger. They believe they can regroup, rebuild. We will show them how wrong they are.”

Seraphine smirked. “A short campaign, then?”

Nepheli’s golden eyes flickered with amusement. “No campaign is short unless your enemy is already dead.”

She spurred her horse forward, and the army began to move.

—

The first target was House Drakemore, a minor noble house that had once sworn to Aurelion and had retreated into the hills when Shadowmere fell. They had fortified their keep, believing themselves beyond Nepheli’s reach.

They were wrong.

The siege was swift and brutal. Under the cover of darkness, Tzunidahr’s forces scaled the outer defenses, setting fire to the wooden palisades before storming the gates. Valerian led the vanguard, cutting through the defenders with ruthless precision. Gaius coordinated the rear assault, ensuring no one escaped.

By dawn, the keep was in flames. Lord Drakemore, a once-proud noble, was dragged before Nepheli, his face bloodied, his armor shattered.

“Mercy,” he croaked, kneeling in the ash. “I was forced to side with Aurelion. I had no choice.”

Nepheli tilted her head. “You always had a choice.”

She turned to Gaius. “Make an example of him.”

Drakemore’s scream was cut short as the blade fell.

Seraphine leaned against her sword, watching the flames devour the remains of the keep. “One house down,” she said, her tone casual. “Who’s next?”

Nepheli gazed westward, where more banners still flew.

“All of them.”

—

Over the next weeks, Nepheli’s army swept through the western territories, stamping out the last remnants of opposition. Some houses surrendered without a fight, bending the knee and swearing fealty. Others, foolish enough to resist, were wiped from history.

With each victory, her legend grew. The people whispered of the Phoenix Queen, the warlord who had risen from the seas to claim the land in fire and blood. They spoke of Seraphine’s ruthless efficiency, of Valerian’s silent and deadly strikes, and of Gaius’ unshakable command.

But more than fear, there was loyalty.

Tzunidahr’s rule was firm, but just. The conquered lands saw order restored, trade reopened, and justice delivered. The weak no longer suffered under corrupt lords, for Nepheli had no patience for incompetence. Those who ruled under her did so by merit, not by birthright.

As the final stronghold fell and the last of the rebellious lords knelt before her, Nepheli stood atop the ramparts, gazing over her newly won domain.

“This is only the beginning,” she murmured.

Gaius stood beside her. “And the next step?”

She turned to him, her expression unwavering. “We consolidate our rule, strengthen our armies, and prepare.”

“For what?”

Nepheli smiled, her whiskey brown eyes glinting like a predator’s.

“For the real war to come.”

 

[Nepheli N. Tzunidahr]

The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the stone walls of Nepheli’s private chambers in the newly fortified capital of Guipui. The papers on her desk, reports and missives from her vassals, lay untouched as her mind wandered far from the affairs of state. The power she had seized was secure—Giro had pledged its loyalty, and House Tzunidahr’s influence in the region was unassailable. The realm was at peace, or at least, it seemed so.

But something stirred in her, something beyond the weight of power.

A report had crossed her desk earlier that day, one that held an allure far greater than any political maneuver, any gold or land that could be gained. Scouts from Giro had discovered an ancient Dungeon on the border, a place of mystery and danger, rumored to hold both treasures of unimaginable worth and secrets that could reshape the very fabric of power in the realm.

Dungeons. Constructs of myth. Places said to be created by forgotten gods or mad kings, hidden away from the prying eyes of mortal men. Those brave enough—or foolish enough—to enter such places were often driven mad by the sights they witnessed or the entities they encountered. Yet, those who emerged were forever changed, their powers and knowledge elevated beyond what was imaginable.

Nepheli had only heard whispers of Dungeons in the past, spoken of in the same breath as the Night Court—ancient, powerful, and mysterious. To find one on her own land was a rare gift, one that called to her instincts like a siren’s song.

She walked to the window, gazing out at the moonlit expanse of Guipui’s rolling hills, the stars glittering above. The Dungeon was only a day’s march away, nestled in the valley between Giro and Guipui, just beyond the reach of her expanding borders. She had no immediate reason to rush into it, no pressing need for treasure or magical artifacts. But adventure… that was another matter entirely.

Her fingers drummed idly against the cold stone windowsill, her mind turning over the possibilities. She had commanded armies, built alliances, taken entire houses to their knees. Yet, this was different—this was a realm where power was not always won through force or diplomacy, but through discovery, cunning, and sometimes, pure luck.

And she was nothing if not a woman of ambition and curiosity.

The sound of a soft knock at the door broke her from her thoughts.

“Enter,” Nepheli called, turning toward the door as it opened.

Gaius stepped inside, his presence as steady and unyielding as always. “My lady,” he said, bowing slightly. “The reports have come in from the scouts. There is indeed something there—a structure unlike anything they’ve seen before. We have a full map of the surrounding area, but no one has dared approach it fully.”

Nepheli’s golden eyes met his. “And why is that?”

Gaius hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the question. “The stories, my lady. There are rumors of strange lights in the sky at night, unearthly sounds from within the valley. Some say the Dungeon is cursed.”

Nepheli’s lips curled into a faint, almost amused smile. “Cursed? How quaint.” She stepped toward him, her gaze sharp. “Tell me, Gaius, do you believe in curses?”

He met her gaze steadily. “I believe in power, my lady. And in what you seek, whether it be a curse or not.”

Nepheli’s eyes gleamed. “Then you know what I will do.”

Gaius’ brow furrowed. “You intend to explore it yourself?”

She nodded, her tone unwavering. “Yes. I will take a small task force with me. A few of my most trusted advisors, and a handful of soldiers. We’ll venture into the Dungeon and see what lies within. If there’s treasure, we’ll claim it. If there’s knowledge, we’ll learn it. If there’s power—” She smiled slightly, “We will take it.”

Gaius hesitated, clearly not pleased with the idea, but his loyalty to her was unshakable. “It’s dangerous, my lady. No one truly knows what lurks within these Dungeons. And if you are to go, I request that I accompany you.”

Nepheli considered his words, her gaze turning to the map that now lay on her desk, showing the path to the Dungeon. She could see the path in her mind already—the dangerous twists and turns of the unknown.

“You may accompany me, Gaius. But only as my guide.” She paused, her voice softening slightly. “We’re not here for reckless conquest. We go in with purpose, and we leave with answers.”

Gaius nodded, a silent agreement between them. “When shall we depart?”

“Tomorrow at dusk,” Nepheli said, her voice resolute. “Gather the team. I’ll select those who will join us. We need not a large force—just enough to protect us, if need be.”

As Gaius left to prepare, Nepheli sat down once more, her thoughts settling into a focused calm. There was something beyond her desire for power that called to her now—an untapped world beneath the surface, hidden from the gaze of all but the brave and the foolhardy.

She knew this journey would change her. Perhaps it would change everything.

As the evening hours passed, Nepheli’s eyes grew heavy with the anticipation of the next day’s journey. She could feel the weight of what was to come pressing against her chest, but it was a weight she welcomed. Adventure. The unknown. A place where her strength, wit, and resolve would be tested like never before.

With a final glance toward the moonlit hills, she rose from her chair, extinguished the candle, and made her way to bed. But even as she lay there, her thoughts raced ahead, imagining what lay in the depths of the Dungeon and what secrets might be hidden there.

The adventure of a lifetime awaited her. And she was ready.

Tomorrow, she would enter the unknown.

 

[Nepheli N. Tzunidahr]

The sun had barely risen, casting a soft light over the camp that had sprung up in Guipui’s borderlands. The previous night’s reports had been filled with grim news, but today was different. Today, a new challenge had appeared on the horizon: the Dungeon at the border between Giro and Guipui. Nepheli could feel the weight of it all pressing down on her shoulders—the ancient and mysterious force she had only heard whispers of. But more than that, there was the promise of knowledge, power, and treasure—things that, in the right hands, could alter the course of destiny.

Nepheli walked among the camp’s tents, her thoughts focused on the task ahead. She had decided that this would not be an ordinary foray into the unknown. She would take a select few, trusted companions—those who had proven themselves in battle and beyond—and venture into the Dungeon. She needed a team capable of surviving whatever lay hidden inside. More than that, she needed people who could think on their feet, adapt to sudden changes, and handle whatever horrors the Dungeon might throw at them.

Gaius, as always, was by her side. His face was shadowed, his posture rigid, but there was no mistaking the readiness in his eyes. He was loyal, and in this situation, his loyalty meant more than ever.

“Have you selected the others?” Nepheli asked, her voice steady despite the excitement bubbling beneath her calm exterior. Instead of choosing the team members the night before, she had elected to allow Gaius to pick.

“I have,” Gaius replied, his deep voice cutting through the morning air. “The core of the force will be made up of experienced soldiers. I’ve chosen those who will be the most useful for an operation like this.”

“Good,” Nepheli said with a nod. “Make sure they understand the stakes. This is no typical mission. This is a journey into the unknown.”

She knew that. Every part of her instincts screamed that this was a different kind of war—one fought not with swords and shields, but with wits and sheer willpower.

They walked through the camp, making their way toward the clearing where the soldiers had gathered. As they approached, Nepheli could see her chosen team standing in formation, their faces serious and eager. They had all been briefed on the situation, but now it was time to meet them face-to-face and cement their roles in the coming adventure.

At the front of the group stood Lira, her dark hair tied back in a tight braid. The archer had been with Nepheli for many years now, her sharp eyes and quick reflexes having saved the task force on more than one occasion. She was the one Nepheli trusted when it came to precision strikes, and her quiet demeanor had always been a comfort in uncertain times.

Beside her stood Malik, a hulking figure with broad shoulders and an air of quiet confidence. Malik was skilled in both sword and stealth, and he could move through the underbrush like a shadow. Nepheli knew he would be indispensable when they inevitably encountered threats they couldn’t handle head-on. His ability to slip in and out of danger would make him invaluable in the Dungeon’s labyrinthine depths.

Darian, the mage, was next in line, adjusting his robe with an air of distracted concentration. He had been trained in both healing and elemental magic, though he wasn’t the most powerful sorcerer. What he lacked in raw strength, however, he made up for in intellect and resourcefulness. Nepheli needed someone who could handle any arcane complications that arose inside the Dungeon, and Darian was the perfect fit. His ability to sense magical energy and neutralize curses would be a major asset.

Finally, there was Thalia, a younger, more agile member of the team. She was a scout, adept at reading the land and predicting movements—whether human or creature. She had only recently joined Nepheli’s ranks, but her skills had already proven invaluable in skirmishes along the border. Nepheli trusted her instincts and knew that Thalia would keep them one step ahead of any danger lurking in the shadows.

Each member of the team stood silently, awaiting Nepheli’s final instructions. The tension in the air was palpable, but Nepheli felt a quiet surge of confidence as she addressed them.

“Listen well,” Nepheli began, her voice strong, carrying across the group. “We are about to undertake something few have ever dared. The Dungeon is a place of ancient power, and we know little about what we will face inside. What we do know is that there is treasure, knowledge, and possibly even power waiting for us. But we will need to move with caution. Trust your instincts, stay focused, and keep your wits about you at all times.”

She paused, her gaze sweeping over each of them. Lira met her eyes first, her expression calm, while Malik’s intense gaze was unwavering. Darian looked thoughtful, his brow furrowed in concern. Thalia’s eyes shone with anticipation, but there was no mistaking the fear beneath them.

“We are here because each of you has proven yourself worthy of this task,” Nepheli continued. “The Dungeon will test us all. Some of us will fall, others will rise. But we move forward together, as a team. If any of you falter, the rest of us will help you stand. Understood?”

“Understood,” Gaius affirmed, stepping forward with a firm nod.

The others followed suit, their voices strong in unison. “Understood.”

Nepheli allowed herself a small smile, the tension easing from her shoulders. This was her team. This was her chance to discover what lay hidden beyond the borders of Guipui and Giro, and she would not let it slip away.

She turned to Gaius. “Prepare the supplies. We leave at dusk. We’ll need food, water, and light sources. Darian, I want you to bring your most potent magical items—anything that can help us survive inside. We’re walking into the unknown.”

Gaius nodded, already taking the lead in organizing the logistics of the expedition. Nepheli felt a ripple of gratitude for the man. He was as efficient as he was loyal, and it would be because of him that they were ready when the time came.

“Thalia,” Nepheli continued, “Scout ahead as soon as we set off. I need to know what we’re walking into. Be stealthy and report back if you sense anything unusual.”

“I’ll do that, my lady,” Thalia replied, her voice eager.

“Good. We’re heading for the border by nightfall,” Nepheli said, her eyes scanning the faces of her team once more. “Stay sharp. Stay ready. And remember—we’re in this together.”

With the preparations set in motion, Nepheli retired to her tent to gather her personal belongings. She took a moment to sit, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the hilt of her sword. The weight of her decision rested heavily on her, but she couldn’t back down now. The Dungeon awaited, and with it, the power to shift the tides of the future.

Later that evening, the camp was buzzing with energy as they prepared to leave. The moon hung high in the sky, casting an ethereal glow over the land. With one last look at the encampment, Nepheli gathered her team and set out toward the unknown.

The path ahead would be fraught with danger, but the allure of discovery was too great. She could feel it in her bones—this was the beginning of something much larger than any of them could comprehend.

As they disappeared into the night, the Dungeon loomed ever closer, its mysteries waiting to unfold.

 

[Hildrabrenna]

Hildrabrenna stood at the dungeon’s threshold, a phantom draped in shadow and the quiet hum of unseen power. The air was thick with the remnants of battle, the scent of blood and burnt iron lingering from Nepheli’s conquest of Giro. Yet, in the presence of the War Master, Hildrabrenna did not bow, nor did she announce her purpose with flowery words. Instead, she simply waited—a stillness that was not passive, but calculated.

She watched Nepheli approach, her movements sharp and purposeful, a woman accustomed to command. Hildrabrenna had studied her from afar—how she fought, how she commanded, how she seized power with both hands. Nepheli was not merely a soldier; she was a force, one that Sylvia had underestimated, and one that Hildrabrenna intended to harness.

A slow smile curved her lips, sharp as a blade hidden beneath silk.

“The scent of conquest clings to you, War Master,” she murmured, voice flowing like dark water. “Giro bends, Guipui follows… but dungeons do not kneel so easily.”

Her fingers traced an invisible sigil in the air, the space between them humming with fleeting magic before it dissipated, slipping away like a half-formed whisper. A simple spell, meant to stir the air, to remind Nepheli that she was not just another commander—she was something other.

Hildrabrenna had no need for brute force or declarations of allegiance. She did not ask for alliances. She wove them, thread by thread, until those caught in her web mistook its bindings for their own will. Nepheli was strong, and strength had a way of being used. A woman like her would not bend to flattery or submission, but she understood power, respected it, aligned herself with it when it suited her.

And Hildrabrenna would make herself indispensable.

Her mind worked as she spoke, already charting the course. Nepheli controlled both Espada’s armies and the Night Court’s forces. That meant when Marcus eventually faded—whether to slumber or to true death—she would be the one left holding the blade. If Hildrabrenna secured her favor now, before the tides of war shifted, before others sought to sink their claws into her, she could ensure a future where Nepheli’s victories were also her own.

A step forward. Shadows curled at her heels like faithful hounds.

“Yet even the deepest vaults open to the right hands,” she continued, her voice dipping lower, richer, laced with meaning. “Walk with me, and you will not find yourself fumbling in the dark. I have walked these paths before.”

She let the words settle, let the weight of them press against Nepheli’s mind. She was not offering mere assistance—she was offering certainty, knowledge that others did not have, guidance that could not be replicated.

In time, Nepheli would see it, whether she realized it now or not—Hildrabrenna was not just a mage, not just a shadow at the edges of the Night Court. She was a key. And those who wished to rule, to survive the inevitable chaos that would come when Marcus was gone, would need a key to unlock the right doors.

Her eyes gleamed with an unreadable depth. “Let us begin.”

 

[Nepheli N. Tzunidahr]

Nepheli met Hildrabrenna’s gaze, weighing the woman’s presence in silence. The mage had offered no flattery, no empty assurances—only the certainty of her own knowledge. Whether that knowledge would prove useful remained to be seen. But Nepheli was no fool. She knew the worth of experience in uncharted territory. And the Dungeon was nothing if not uncharted.

So she turned away, her decision made.

“As long as we can clear the Dungeon… perchance you might find me in your debt, a favor for a favor, an eye for an eye.”

Her task force stood ready at the Dungeon’s threshold, their torches flickering against the yawning darkness beyond. Warriors, scouts, and those with sharper senses for the unnatural had been chosen for this descent. Each of them carried weapons, supplies, and the hardened resolve that came with surviving the war. Yet here, war meant little. Here, the rules were unknown.

The entrance yawned wide before them, its archway choked with the scent of damp stone and something older—something wrong. Nepheli’s fingers tightened around the hilt of her long sword as she stepped forward.

The first signs of past failures lay just beyond the threshold.

Bones, brittle and yellowed with time, littered the ground. Some were still clad in rusted armor, the remnants of men and women who had walked this path before them and never returned. A shattered sword lay near one such corpse, its blade broken cleanly as if by a force too strong for mere steel to withstand.

Another step, and a skull crunched beneath her boot.

She did not flinch.

“Stay close,” she ordered, voice low but firm. “Eyes sharp. Anything that looks like a trap, assume it is.”

The torchlight barely pushed against the thick gloom ahead. Walls of carved stone stretched into darkness, worn smooth by time yet marked by deep gouges—the kind left by claws, not tools.

Something had lived here once. Perhaps it still did.

The air was heavy with the weight of the unknown, but Nepheli had made her choice. There was no turning back now.

With steady steps, she led them forward.

@Hildrabrenna

 

[Hildrabrenna]

Hildrabrenna followed, silent as the creeping shadows that curled against the dungeon walls. She did not need to be told to stay close—she had walked these paths before, in dungeons far older, in places where the air itself whispered of the dead and the damned. She let Nepheli lead for now, as was fitting for the War Master, but her presence slithered at the woman’s flank, a ghostly specter of knowledge and unseen preparation.

Her gaze flickered over the remnants of past failures—the brittle bones, the rusted armor, the broken blade. Not crude, accidental deaths, but swift. Precise. The work of something that did not waste its efforts.

She stepped lightly over the shattered skull, letting the others move ahead before she bent, pressing two fingers to a nearby femur. Her thumb traced a faint indentation—teeth marks, though not jagged like a beast’s. No, this had been something hungry, but methodical. The way the marrow had been stripped suggested something that did not devour for sustenance, but for ritual.

Interesting.

She rose, brushing dust from her fingertips.

“The dead speak,” she murmured, her voice smooth, unhurried, meant only for Nepheli’s ears. “If you know how to listen.”

A flick of her wrist, and a faint, pulsing ember of red light ignited in her palm. It was no ordinary flame—it flickered unnaturally, bending in ways fire should not, a tongue of arcane energy tasting the air. She turned her hand slightly, watching as the ember shifted—then suddenly sputtered and guttered out.

Hildrabrenna smiled. Clever dungeon. It did not simply kill those who entered. It swallowed magic whole, gnawing at enchantments, leeching energy from the unwary. Those who relied too heavily on the arcane would find themselves stripped bare before the true dangers began.

“We are being watched,” she murmured, stepping closer to Nepheli, her voice barely above a whisper. “Not by eyes, but by something deeper. This place devours magic. It waits to see who will stumble first.”

She turned to the others, watching the torchlight flicker weakly against the smothering dark.

“Do not trust your own senses,” she advised, her tone gentle but firm. “Dungeons such as these have no walls, no floors—only hunger. It will twist the air, stretch the space between your steps, make you believe you are walking forward when you are circling back.”

Another slow smile. “But I know its tricks. Follow my lead, and we will walk where it does not wish us to tread.”

She raised a single hand, drawing a curved sigil in the air, not of power, but of guidance. It was a map of sorts, though it existed only in her mind—the way a dungeon should be structured, the paths that it wanted them to take versus the ones it was hiding. She had learned long ago that these places, despite their illusions, still had a logic to them. They did not want to be beaten, but they could not help but invite the challenge.

Hildrabrenna let her fingers fall, nodding once toward a passage to the left.

“Not forward,” she said, voice steady. “That path is waiting for us. Expecting us. We will take the unseen route.”

With that, she stepped forward, into the dim, leading them not where the dungeon guided, but where it least desired them to go.

 

[Nepheli N. Tzunidahr]

Nepheli listened without turning her head, her fingers tightening against the worn leather of her sword hilt. Hildrabrenna’s words were not idle musings. The mage spoke with the weight of someone who had unraveled the secrets of places like this before. Nepheli trusted steel, strategy, and the certainty of flesh meeting blade—but she was not arrogant enough to dismiss the wisdom of those who navigated the intangible.

She glanced toward the left-hand passage. To an untrained eye, it was no different from the rest—carved stone, choked in shadow, its air thick with the damp scent of the underground. But now that Hildrabrenna had spoken, Nepheli felt it. A stillness that was not natural. A quiet tension, as if the dungeon itself had not anticipated them stepping in that direction.

Good. She was not in the habit of walking into a predator’s open jaws.

She turned slightly, pitching her voice low enough that only those closest would hear.

“You heard the witch. We move left. Close ranks—tight formation. No one lags behind.” She glanced over her shoulder at the rest of the party, ensuring every pair of eyes was sharp, every stance ready. “If you see something strange, you do not break formation. You report it. Understood?”

A series of quiet nods. No one here was green. They had fought in wars, held the line against foes who wanted to rip them apart, but war had rules. Dungeons did not. That was the difference.

She moved first, stepping into the passage, and the rest followed in practiced silence. The corridor sloped downward, the air growing colder with each step. The flickering torchlight wavered strangely, as if something unseen was pressing against it, trying to snuff it out. The walls narrowed, the ceiling pressing lower, forcing them to tighten their formation.

Then the passage breathed.

It was subtle, almost imperceptible—a shift in the air, a pulse in the stone, as though the dungeon itself was alive, stirring at the presence of intruders. Nepheli’s grip on her sword didn’t waver, but her muscles coiled in anticipation.

Ahead, the path widened into a small chamber. The walls were lined with stone reliefs, figures carved in the midst of battle—men locked in combat with creatures twisted beyond recognition. Some bore weapons that looked familiar, while others wielded jagged blades made from something that seemed to pulse in the dim light.

But the center of the chamber was bare, save for a single figure.

A corpse, slumped against the far wall.

Unlike the remains at the entrance, this one was fresher—perhaps a few weeks old at most. Its armor was shattered, the breastplate caved in as if struck by an immense force. One arm lay severed at its side, the wound too clean for decay to have done the work. A sword was still clutched in its remaining hand, though the blade was warped, twisted, as if it had been melted and reshaped by something far hotter than flame.

Nepheli exhaled slowly, stepping forward just enough to inspect the body without touching it. Her mind worked through the possibilities.

“A trap?” one of the warriors murmured.

“Or a warning,” Nepheli muttered in return. She cast a glance toward Hildrabrenna. “This dungeon—does it kill only to consume, or does it punish?”

Because this death did not seem random. It felt deliberate. As if the dungeon had not just claimed this man’s life—but made an example of him.

Tag; @Hildrabrenna

 

[Hildrabrenna]

Hildrabrenna studied the corpse with the calm of one who had seen such horrors before, unbothered by the grotesque artistry of its demise. Her eyes traced the caved-in breastplate, the too-clean severing of the arm, the warped blade still clutched in stiffened fingers. Not merely a death, but a message.

She stepped forward, careful not to disturb the placement of the body. Her fingers hovered over the broken armor, but she did not touch—only felt. A faint residue lingered in the air, something beyond decay, something vengeful.

Nepheli’s question lingered between them. Does it kill only to consume, or does it punish?

A slow breath. A flicker of cold magic curled from her fingertips before dissipating, useless against the dungeon’s hunger. Still, she did not need spells to understand the nature of things. She had seen dungeons like this before, places where death was not just an end but a spectacle, a lesson.

“It does both,” Hildrabrenna murmured at last, voice like silk woven over steel. “But punishment implies a transgression. The question is… what crime was committed?”

Her gaze swept across the stone reliefs lining the chamber, the figures frozen mid-battle. Men and monsters locked in struggle, their features carved with eerie precision. Some human warriors wielded familiar weapons, yet others bore twisted blades akin to the one clutched in the dead man’s hand.

Her lips curved slightly, something thoughtful—perhaps even amused—hidden beneath her expression.

“This was not simply a man who failed.” She motioned toward the corpse with a slow tilt of her head. “This was a man who displeased the dungeon.”

She crouched then, drawing a finger just above the warped blade, tracing its melted and reshaped form. The distortion was unnatural, not the work of fire alone. The dungeon had touched this weapon, had twisted it—perhaps as punishment, perhaps as a warning.


“He wielded something he should not have,” she mused. “Something that did not belong to him. And for that, he was corrected.”

A beat of silence. She rose to her full height, turning to Nepheli with a knowing glint in her gaze.

“Dungeons have rules, War Master. They may not be written, nor spoken, but they are known to those who can listen.” Her voice dipped, quiet, yet rich with meaning. “This place does not merely consume the unworthy—it judges them. What it punishes is not failure, but arrogance.”

Her eyes flicked to the fallen man once more, then back to Nepheli.

“Be mindful of what you take from this place,” she warned, “and of what it allows you to wield.”

Then, without hesitation, she turned from the body and toward the far side of the chamber, her steps deliberate.

“Come. It is watching. Let us not linger in its lessons.”